Pretend
by La Editor
Summary: Yuffie tried to let it go. She really did, but some wounds just don’t close and she just kept pouring on in that salt. Yuffentine. Kingdom Hearts.
1. Part One

A/N: The first thing I thought after playing through Final Fantasy VII, was, 'they have to remember!' I had played Kingdom Hearts first, so it wasn't a big deal to me. Cool, characters from a video game I'd never seen before. But then I _played FFVII_, and I was probably immersed in the storyline too much to be healthy. I fell in love with it. And then, lo and behold, back to Kingdom Hearts, and it was a different feel from before because, well, I knew them as something other than that. And it was a little off-feeling, because Yuffie didn't know Wutai and Cloud probalby never knew anyone named Zack and Aeris was Aerith. (That name change will be the death of me. It bugs me. _So much. _Nergh.)

But I guess the whole thing didn't really bother me that much. I mean, Kingdom Hearts is still going - the 'next installment' of all of their stories will come eventually. Maybe Vinnie'll show up in there or Yuffie will ask Sora if he ever met a gunslinger. No biggie. But I was already thinking, and so this was born.

_Pretend_ is a story about Yuffie trying to remember the past. That's all I need to say. I actually was really glad someone was on the same brain wave as me when Hiasobi wrote Hearts, which is still in progress and is absolutely AMAZING. Anyway, I've kept this to myself for long enough. The whole thing amounts to 40 pages on Microsoft Word, so I've split it into three parts. I admit, I'm a real Scrooge and don't like getting jipped, so I will upload each one with a break in between of, say, a week or two. It's more special that way.

And kudos to the absolutely fanastic **T. Costa**, who is my final fantasy beta! She is awesome, go worship her and her awesome Yuffentine stories of sexy design. Now.

So, here it is, and _here we go_. Happy holidays, because I am uploading this at eleven o'clock Christmas Eve and need to get to bed before Santa comes. :)

-Manda

o

(It's not the fall that kills you, it's the landing.)

o

Pretend

She once had a very vivid dream, where she was walking in a frozen wasteland –

Only it wasn't exactly frozen, nor was it exactly wasteland. No – it was the most precious thing in the world, a homeland, a frozen homeland and nobody was there.

Only her.

Her feet slapped steadily against the cobblestone, in bright orange sneakers that didn't quite match with anything. The cobblestones led around such oriental and fancy buildings with chipped red paint that was probably once so colorful, but turned such a dull red. Dull dull dull. The buildings were almost falling apart, and she was looking for someone.

There were rivers, or what used to be rivers, winding around and running through on their own journey and pathway. They were frozen, now, or maybe they just didn't move as fast as they used to. She couldn't tell. There were bridges, over the rivers, and the wood was worn down and dull just like the buildings, but the railings were red, too, and her hand trailed lightly over it, like a butterfly, and it was familiar.

She stopped at a crossway, of sorts. The cobblestones led to a forest (_and flash, she looked to her left where the forest with no leaves was supposed to be, but a white forest with glowing trees was instead, and she didn't want to be there because poor, beautiful Ae_—) with a tall pagoda, still a wholesome red standing mightily in the distance and lovely, and the cobblestones led to a mountain with faces that she recognized so well but couldn't name.

She watched the mountain for a long, long time that could have been a second or an hour, and then she followed the cobblestones to the forest with no leaves (_not the beautiful frozen white forest of the Forgotten_-) and the pagoda.

It was tall, and beautiful, and smelled so deliciously like home (_but how could this be home, when home was—?_),along with the building just to her right and left, but she couldn't turn of her own free will and her orange-clad feet led her to the tall strong pagoda that was familiar and home (_—not here, or was it—?_). Up the steps that (_flash_, _she played on as a child_) felt familiar and through the large, old wooden doors that were, too, and her hands pressed against them for a moment.

Then inside.

No one was there.

It hurt, a bit. It was an empty room, but in her mind she knew it was more than that.

It was the same for each floor. One. Two. Three. Four.

Then her feet took her up the steps to the fifth, and sudden anticipation and worried excitement began to build up in her chest and up her throat, and she entered the room.

And when no one was there (_who was supposed— no, she knew it was supposed to be G-)_, she kneeled upon the floor and wept for the first time in a long time.

Yuffie's eyes snapped open to find a familiar ceiling, and she scrambled from her bed (_and she had never liked beds, because they were always too high even if she was sure she had slept in beds like that all her life_) to goggle out the window, but she relaxed in disappointment when the inky black night sky (_always night, where was the sun, that beautiful sun of W—_) of Traverse Town twinkled down at her.

When she returned to bed, she found her face was streaked with tears; she rubbed them off and cursed herself lightly before returning to bed.

o

Sometimes, when Yuffie had a dream like her frozen homeland which couldn't possibly be home (_because home was in Radiant Gardens, of course, not W_—), she would be frazzled and dizzied and so confused throughout the day (_what day, because in Traverse Town you slept when you felt like it, and it was too hard to adjust to, even after all these years_—) that she wasn't herself.

Aerith (_or was it Aeris, sometimes she couldn't remember and it frightened her_—) noticed every single time, because beneath that soft voice and those gentle green eyes was a sharp mind – sometimes Cid noticed. Sometimes not. She never could quite tell with Squall –

But that didn't really matter, because of the many things she did to throw people and generally piss them off, this wasn't one of them.

Even if it was by choice, she would back away from it like hell at her heels, because it would start at night with a dream and it would go on and on, like a dream during the rest of the day because if she dozed or concentrated on something very hard and sat very still for a moment, even just a moment, it would be like déjà vu (_but déjà vu wasn't exactly like this—) _and it was like a very nasty relapse of a cold.

For example.

When Yuffie woke up again after her dream of red and dead forests and empty rooms that made her dream-self cry, she threw her legs off the bed with no desire to lie back down and rubbed her eyes wearily with the heels of her palms, clammy feet meeting the pleasingly cool floorboards of the hotel, in the Green Room.

Shower. Dressed. She looked at the shabby sink mirror – one bathroom between all of them _sucked_ – and eyed her bright green shirt, and _flash_, she knew it was supposed to be a darker, thicker, woollier green with a turtleneck and some sort of shoulder armor—

She blindly pushed herself away from the mirror and slammed into the wall, shoving off and stumbling into the hallway to eat.

Aerith (_Aeris—?) _and her worried forest eyes greeted her, and the first thing from the woman's (_the flower girl's—)_ mouth was, "Are you alright, Yuffie?" because Aeri(_th or s_—?) always knew, always always. She could always tell when Yuffie was having one of those days.

Leon had his days, too, and he didn't like to be pitied and he didn't want anyone to know anything was wrong, so he would walk in and the woman in pink would give him a strong cup of tea wordlessly, with that amazing radar that was once used for someone else... for Cl—?

Cid, when it happened to him, would feel like 0!(! and let every single person know it, don't forget, and Aerith (_it was Aerith, silly Yuffie, of course, when had it ever changed since everyone was children in Radiant—?_) would smile gently and cook him some of her _to_-_die-for_ pancakes, but sometimes Yuffie thought that she had once had a friend who was a better cook, and she almost knew her face but her name was always a mystery.

But when Aerith was sad, when _she_ had her days, it was hard to watch, and even harder to diagnose, and the hardest was how to fix her up like she did for them. She sat outside in the alleyway (_because when they were there back then, the Heartless weren't that bad and she could protect herself_) and somehow, by some miracle Yuffie couldn't grasp or comprehend, she made flowers grow.

When Aerith's days came, Yuffie would slip outside the hotel and Aeris would be sitting in the alleyway, tending her small garden, and to Yuffie it was amazing, it was a gift.

But to Aerith, as she once said to the ninja (_Yuffie K—?Yuffie, the Great Ninja Thief, the White Rose of W—_), to Aeris… she would smile a very melancholy smile, and say very softly, '_The flowers don't grow here, because this is dead earth._'

When she said this, Yuffie's mind exploded.

Because she _understood_, she _knew_, she had been to the church and had sprawled near the garden and she knew because their earth, their Pl—

And then, in that very moment, something struck Yuffie that she couldn't possibly remember for more than a moment, because it was just a _feeling_, but she looked at Aerith (_no, right then it was Aeris, of course, had always been – Aeris_) very hard and long, and then she tackled the girl in a hug because in that moment (_in those moments, few and far between_) she felt like the girl wasn't really there and somehow wasn't real, and later, much later, Yuffie would always search her belt absently throughout the day for a Phoenix Down for Aeris.

But we're getting off topic, because this wasn't one of Aerith's days-

It was Yuffie's, and she was sure her days were unique in the sense that she remembered things that didn't really happen. She sat at the breakfast table and tried to ignore it the best she could.

After Aerith smiled gently at her, and as Yuffie eagerly but drowsily (_in that weird, oxymoronical way that only she could pull off, once said the laughing, high pitched Irish accented voice of Cai—_) pulled the bacon, eggs, and warm mug of hot chocolate towards her, a very terrifying but very exciting thought struck her.

Because it was so very possible, maybe, just maybe, that her days were unique in the sense she was remembering things that really did happen-

And only she could remember.

It was a funny thought. For the rest of the day (_what day – it was more appropriate to say for the rest of the twelve hours she was awake_), Yuffie found different places in the safety of the first district in Traverse Town to focus on something very hard and sit very, very still.

The first time was after she left the small little hotel and sat on top of a crate in a remote little alleyway that wasn't where flowers grew. She focused on a smaller crate for a very long time, and it was hard to sit still for five minutes, or at least without hurting herself (_"Feast your eyes on the Great Ninja— Whoa—" and then, "Could you at least pretend to be sympathetic? Man, that really hurt!"_), but the crate transformed into something else and she closed her eyes and it was burned into the back of her eyelids; the inside of a moving truck, and a man.

A man.

She let it in, breathed it in, held it close and only opened her eyes again after a few moments when those few words that, maybe, just maybe, she had once said were engrained in her memory with an image of a man, lying down on a bench in a moving truck. Then she watched the crate just once more because she couldn't tear her eyes away, and it transformed again; and the wine-red brown eyes and long dark hair were familiar, and the woman's name still didn't come, but she was beautiful, she was lovely, and Yuffie knew that she was the sister she never had.

And then a big brown mass, a jillion chocolate covered muscles with a metallic and shining gunarm that was anything but gallant, and a little purple dress with a long braid and red bow sitting quietly and contently on the shoulder of that huge man, whose name was Barret.

Barret Wallace, who was once Cid Highwind's drinking buddy in late nights in Seventh Heaven, where the woman would cook and smile and literally throw bickering drunks out the door without batting an eye—

Yuffie _saw _it, and her eyes snapped open in pure alarm, and she was very shaken up (_why did she want to see all these things again, when she knew they weren't possibly true, because she grew up in Radiant Gardens, not in Kalm, and not in Edge or Midgar and definitely not W—_), so she wobbled away funny-like to go bug Squall.

o

Squall was always a good match, and they were pretty even; sometimes she won, sometimes he did. But he was different, and she didn't like his different, because it was a Gunblade, not a Buster Sword and not Death P-

She just didn't like the idea of a gunblade, that was all. It was as weird as using _hairclips_ as weapons, for Levia-

Hairclips.

How odd, and Yuffie stopped because her stomach felt suddenly very jelly-like, and Squall nailed her and told her to pay attention.

She always felt and acted more like an adult around Squall, because it reminded her of how quickly things were torn away (_how quickly she grew up, kicked out into the big wide world until she was found by AVA-_), but she stuck her tongue out at him anyway, fixed herself up with a quick potion, and strolled off, cool as you please because she was _so_ much cooler than he was.

Haha, she _pwned_ him (_pwn pwn pwn_, what a fun word) and he was cooler than _Cloud_-

"I remember Cloud," she stopped and said this aloud, and childhood memories long since forgotten from Radiant Gardens sprang up easily – a spiky headed jerkface who was like an orange, with a hard shell, but a soft sticky gooey mess underneath, a real jerk of a pretend older brother who was a softie at heart.

But she remembered him wrong, she thought and knew without knowing how, because this wasn't a memory like the cook with a miniskirt and a long ponytail (_or let down hair with leather that worked_), or Barret Wallace with a gross green vest (_or a bright white marshmallow suit, that he wore on the ship from Junon—_) and muddy boots that he never cleaned.

Or hairclips, that were used by a Red that was more orange.

And she didn't know how she knew that, so Yuffie walked away from the sewer secret-training ground that wasn't ever really secret as fast as she could.

o

She later joined Aerith, who was humming a cheerful melody as she walked to Cid's gummi parts/accessory shop (_ridiculous_, Yuffie thought, _why the hell would anyone call building blocks for ships gummi parts, and when did Cid Highwind ever be a lame shopkee_—?).

"We grew up in Radiant Gardens," Yuffie said idly. Aerith watched the ninja from her peripheral vision, nodding and tilting her head to the side in an unspoken question with a tiny little smile that danced in amusement placed on her rosy pink lips (_that was all so Aeris, but so out of character for a flower girl from the slu-_).

Yuffie decided that Aerith must have known something she didn't, and carefully filed away this piece of information before continuing.

"It's funny. I could never remember much, and didn't really think on it." Yuffie turned her head towards her pretend sister as they ascended the stairs towards the shop. "Do you remember any of our other childhood friends?"

Aerith's lips curved up a little. "Like who?"

(_**By**__ who, that was what it was supposed to be – a pretend big brother with chocobo hair told her once in a big sad sigh with his eyes closed, when he needed a little sister's shoulder to lean on and let out some things that needed releasing, but that he wanted desperately to be his, and his alone; his own memories that weighed down on him from time to time_-)

Then she pushed open the doors, and before Yuffie could begin to form a reply the loud voice of Cid Highwind penetrated their ears in a loud greeting.

Yuffie's head turned upwards in thought.

"Forgiven," she said.

Aerith didn't hear her as she greeted the pilot warmly.

But when Yuffie greeted the pilot loudly and obnoxiously, more like herself – that was when the woman in pink watched her, head tilted again, and she closed her eyes.

o

"Oi, old man, when did you give up cancer sticks?" Yuffie asked as she sat on the counter, legs swinging – no amount of grunting and threatening from the pilot would make her budge – and the blonde who was chewing a piece of hay looked at her.

"The heck you talkin' 'bout, brat? I never smoked, you know that, kid." He still looked a little troubled at his statement, as if testing the truth in it.

In Yuffie's head, his sentence sounded strange.

(_The hell you talkin' 'bout, damn brat? #_-)

"Really?"

"Hey, did that Leon hit ya too hard with that gunblade 'f his? I'll have to congratulate him later-"

"You old fart!" Yuffie punched him in the arm, a familiar action (_to both of her worlds, imaginary and make believe – real and tangible, which was it? Because they both seemed unreal or very real when she thought about it—_), and the tinkling sound of Aerith's laugh made her grin.

There was the three of them. Squall always felt a little out of place among them all.

Yuffie wondered why.

Maybe, maybe she had never known him at all?

In the words of Cid, Yuffie asked herself what the hell she was talking – no, thinking about. It was such a random thought.

And it was strangely scary (_if Squall wasn't ever real in her memory, what about everyone else in her head?_), and also strangely exciting. Because the people she was (_growing less and less_) sure she had never met felt much more real in her head than he did.

The three returned to the Second District together after Cid closed up his little shop that let them rent out their cheap rooms (_they were getting cheaper, because no one really went to the Second District anymore, and even the landlord left and let them just mail their rent_), and Aerith opened up the room that was their kitchen and together room, the one that was connected to the closed office.

Yuffie helped Aerith with the simplistic dinner of stew, and when she set their shabby table with utensils, she remembered using forks for all of her life, in elevated chairs on an elevated table.

But she would rather have used chopsticks, on neat little pillows on a low table with a real meal – one with some sort of spice or honey, and that familiar brown rice.

"Oi, you seen Squallie?" the ninja hollered at the pilot as her pretend sister ladled the food into bowls.

"Crap, kid, don't need to yell so loud-" which was wrong, because she expected more profanity from his mouth, like a good long 'shit,' for some odd reason – "And he'll kill ya if ya call him that."

Yuffie nodded in agreement, eyes closed, and tried to still the shiver that ran down her spine, because when she said Squallie, it was _wrong_, because the term at the end was for someone _else_, the ridiculous but awesome invention of the 'ie.' That was for someone else. Not Squall. Not now. Not ever.

Aerith watched the seventeen year old in concern (_not a _kid_, I'm twenty, now—_), and lightly placed a gentle, cool hand on her forehead to check if she was feeling alright.

When Yuffie opened her eyes, she almost expected to see the same face and pink dress, but with a nice, short and puffy sleeved red over-jacket, with the sea shhing in the background, on top of a faded orange plane wing.

That wasn't what she saw, though, and her shoulders almost sagged in disappointment – she flashed a grin at her friend to assure all was right with the world (_everything with that sentence was just wrong, her insides squirmed and told her so_), and she bounded off to place down the bowls for her friends.

o

A few nights later, and Yuffie found herself dreaming again.

"_Oi, tall dark and broody. What's up?" The ninja flung herself down sloppily to sit next to the man with long, untamed hair and a tattered, beaten red cloak._

"…_Hello, Yuffie." The lack of response made her roll her eyes and make a noise that sounded suspiciously like a big 'pfffft.'_

_It was growing close to sunset, but a summer sunset – the sky was a very clear, light cerulean with only wisps and traces of brazen golden yellows and mellow bright pinks, and just a light, light tinge of orange – and no stars were yet visible, only the dull half shown moon, who decided she wouldn't shine just yet. AVALANCHE had set up camp here, close to the Corel Mountains in all their light cream chocolate beauty; the current cliff felt more like a grassland than anything else, and the rock the man was leaning against was the greatest contrast to angry red and black._

"_It's nice," she said. From the moment the rather mysterious gunslinger had joined AVALANCHE, she could already tell he was uncomfortable around other people, and she, constantly jabbering away and cheerfully shooting her mouth off, probably didn't make it any better. _

_And then they had wrestled his story from him, and here they were, almost four days later and Nibelheim was so far gone it wasn't even a speck in the horizon._

"_You're not much of a talker. No wonder you didn't seem too comfortable around us. Then again, we aren't really a normal group of people," Yuffie continued casually, and she watched the sky for all its worth and then frowned, looking down and picking an offending thread on her green sweater off._

"…_Not… normal?" Yuffie grinned at this, because it was obvious he really didn't know the difference much anymore. Sleeping in a coffin for thirty years would suck._

"_Yeah. Well, I mean, we're all crazy, but everyone has their own weirdness. Like Spikes, for instance. He crossdressed once!" And she laughed, though the man's expression had only changed by a delicately raised eyebrow._

"_Tifa told me, 'cause I wasn't there – wish to Leviathan I had been – he had to get into a whorehouse to save her, and it was one of those really nasty grossness big expensive ones, so he moseyed on in all in drag and actually got picked by the main pimp as his night buddy," she laughed more. The man frowned, and her vulgarity – Yuffie preferred bluntness – most likely did not amuse him._

_Yuffie tried not to let the frown unsettle her. He was an unsettling man, but then she thought of his story and decided to disregard the stone-cold demeanor henceforth. _

"_But yeah, you're probably one'a the weirdest people we've picked up. You might even compete with Spikes, or even Barret," she joked, and didn't look at him because she didn't really want to deal with a frown._

"_Is there a reason you came here?" His tone wasn't cold, or even sharply icy. It was that low droll of monotone, but if Yuffie really listened it would probably be a very nice voice._

_She looked over at him, and didn't let red eyes affect her at all._

"_Yep. Actually, I was just wondering…" And she got up to sit back on her haunches, because she never could sit for still too long, and she tucked a strand of too-long dark hair behind her ear, "What it was like."_

_The man beside her looked at her in genuine puzzlement, perpetual scowl gone as he had something, something real, that he didn't understand for once in many years._

"_What… what is like?"_

"_To feel again."_

_She could tell that the question didn't just throw him off – it hurdled him to a different world and back, something that he wouldn't have expected in a million years. It was this kind of unsettlement that set off a gleeful delight in the back of Yuffie's head, especially because she hadn't even come out to trigger that. _

_As soon as he got back to the planet, and properly screwed his head back on, he looked at the sky. _

_She almost told him that it wouldn't tell him, and that it was an answer he would have to come up with himself. Hellooo, you have a brain, so use it, mister, but she didn't say that._

"…_I don't think I can," he whispered. _

_Yuffie watched him closely, watched those dark red eyes and watched the pale face and watched the colorless lips tug down in a frown (as compared to the usual straight line). _

_Then after a moment that seemed like a split second and seemed like an eternity, she rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, and his eyes snapped to her for such a sudden noise._

_Yuffie jumped up nimbly, strode over the few feet that separated them, and crouched down again, almost in front of him – off to the side a bit, so that she didn't fall over his extended leg, stupid golden boot and all. She looked him straight in the eye, and silently dared him to meet her gaze; he wasn't the type to be afraid of anything, and there was nothing for him to be ashamed of from her (there were lots of things to be ashamed of, she found later, but not from her, never), so his eyes unblinkingly focused on hers. _

_Yuffie pulled the rubber band off of her wrist, quick as a flash, and snapped it against the man's pale skin, snapped it right next to his ear. In less than a split second he recoiled, careening away and twisting to the side to regain balance as a red spot sprung up. _

_The man glared at her, and his self-control was all that kept him from rubbing the angry red mark forcefully (and probably shooting her. In the face). Yuffie was grinning._

"_And why, may I ask, did you do that?" His tone, this time, was icy. It didn't bother her._

"_You felt it," she said simply, and it threw him off again and sent him careening off again, even if he had frozen completely, and the ninja grinned cheekily as she stood up, brushing off the back of her shorts and walking away, off to camp and her other friends, with the same light spring in her step as always._

_Vincent Valentine's red eyes watched her in disbelief the entire way. _

Her eyes snapped open, and a second later her torso shot up from the bed as if it had been branded with a white-hot poker. Sweat trickled down her neck and from her forehead, and her breathing was fast and erratic, and the name on the tip of her tongue was running away from her like water trickling from her cupped hands.

And Yuffie almost jumped out the window to run after it.


	2. Part Two

A/N: Well, I guess I'm pretty mean, huh? This has been written and finished _weeks _before I even uploaded the first installment, so I've basically had this rotting in my computer for the past month or so. Well. Once again, kudos to Tasha for betaing it all, and here is the second part of three of Pretend.

o

A time later, when Aerith happened to accidentally catch a bought of semi-nasty flu, the pilot, the ninja, and the man firmly put her in bed and assured her they could take care of things (_which wasn't completely true, because no matter what he put in there, Cid Highwind's soup would always taste like complete and utter_ crap).

So they pushed her into her bed, threatening to strap her down if she didn't _stay put_, and took care of her the best they could. Leon and Yuffie just made sure that Cid didn't go near the kitchen, and all was well.

Then, it was towards the close of their hours awake (_need Yuffie be reminded that there was no day anymore_), and Aerith was fast asleep and needed no care giving at the moment. Yuffie ambled from the hotel, her energy pumped and feeling almost alive again as she laughed at the heartless little monster ants and pretend knights, and ran from them instead of sticking it out and fighting (_because running was much more fun, with almost nonexistent wind whipping through her body like flight_).

She came to the First District, where the people were _(she liked it so much better because it wasn't empty, and empty places didn't necessarily frighten her, but they made her feel so unhappy and lonely and remind her of something from somewhere else, some time else_—), and slowed her fast sprint to an amiable stride, hands tucked in nonexistent pockets and whistling a little tune that reminded her of the martial artist cook.

Her stomach chose, at the precise time she was walking down the steps, to give a loud protest to anymore walking and a rather annoyed plea for food. Yuffie didn't even bat an eye as she promptly switched directions to comply, and headed to the little café tucked in the corner (_because restaurant was a title a little too grand for it_).

Much to her surprise, she found Cid and Leon at the little outdoor gathering of tables, all dark mahogany and almost painfully reminding her of something Yuffie couldn't place her finger on, and decided not to try.

Her two favorite men (_because she couldn't quite remember any others—_) were slouched at the bar with cans and cans of beer on the table, all of them empty save for the two they each were nursing quietly. Her eyebrows quirked, because getting drunk almost felt weird for this place (_which felt so innocent, so innocent in comparison to her Pla-_).

So she obnoxiously pulled up a chair and just like that was holding Cid's just-opened can – he had opened it, set it on the table, and leaned his head back, and Cid Highwind was awake no more. For now, anyway.

"Hey, Squalls," But that sounded weird, too.

Spikes. That was what the 's' was reserved for.

Yuffie resolved to just call him Squall, because the cool nicknames were for other people. Squall just got to be Squall. Poor sap.

The brooding was undeniable – he was almost scowling, but it wasn't quite there, not yet. Not to the point of anger. Just brooding.

Maybe he had figured out that they never really met, Yuffie wondered.

But she hid the thought behind a loud grin and gulping down a bit of the beer that she had never tasted before (_but that's just the thing – she _had_, even if it was underage and Cid Highwind never cared if the ninja raided his beer cabinet when he was dead drunk and Shera could hold her alcohol but wasn't conscious, either—_) and she smacked her lips a bit before setting it down.

Leon coolly watched her with stone eyes that weren't quite all there.

"You aren't old enough to drink that," he said quietly. He made no move to take it from her grasp.

"Like hell I am," she said suddenly, and used a curse that _should _have been a normal occurrence but wasn't. "Like hell, Squall Leonhart. I'm not seventeen."

His body jerked like it had been hit by lightning, and his eyes were wide and staring at her, unbelieving, and his chair almost tipped over. When he had righted himself, his eyes were a bit bloodshot and disbelief was stamped across his face like chocobo tracks.

"How old are you, then?" He asked, and it was rough and his throat was probably sore as all hell – that word, again – and it wasn't a very pretty sound, but it was a sound that she hoped for, because he was starting to figure out, too, and she wasn't crazy as she thought she was once.

"…" –It was her time for a silence, for once, for a completely open-ended '…' that could have meant anything and everything, and he couldn't read it because she was the one who interpreted silences. Not him (_even though the silences she had come to understand had never been Squall Leonhart's silences, never his—_).

"I think… Two years, huh, that's right….I'm supposed to be celebrating my twenty first birthday this November," and her voice was moody and Leon suddenly wasn't Leon. He was a lost young boy wearing a man's skin, and it was deflating faster than a balloon, the skin sagging and the little boy showing through.

It wasn't pretty. It wasn't supposed to be.

Then he raised a leather-gloved hand to rub his face, straight down like he was pulling his face off. But the mask – face, thing, whatever it was – stayed on, and he sighed. It wasn't something he wanted to talk about.

She knew, and she understood.

They had never really known each other like they thought they did. The brother sister relationship was suddenly broken, and it was frightening. Of course it was.

"Sleep on it," Yuffie stated tiredly, even if she had just been bursting at the seams with energy.

Squall Leonhart, the man she had never really known, understood. So he stood up, gathered his drinking buddy, and stumbled on home.

Yuffie was still holding her drink, and when it was done after a long time of quiet she reached for Leon's almost full can.

'_Don't you think you've had enough already?_'

The voice stopped her. It was deep, smooth but a little gravelly, just a little from lack of use, and it was wonderfully familiar, and she could hear the hidden warmth and when her hand stopped, it stood in midair for several second before shaking and shaking and landing on the table limply like a rag doll hand.

And there he was, sitting right across from her, dark and absolutely beautiful like once upon a time for Yuffie (_because no one else's once upon a time could even pretend to like this, but hers was and didn't need to pretend at all—_).

Pale skin, skin that once was no doubt once a brazen golden tan but had all the color sucked out years and years and years ago, skin that was so starkly white against wild black hair which looked so soft (_like the mama she couldn't remember, who died in the war against the bad general and Sh_—), just like she remembered. There were the delicate features she knew (_but distinctly masculine, because he wasn't feminine in the least bit_) with the lower half of his face half covered by scarlet, deep scarlet like her own country's proud colors.

And the eyes.

She could never forget them, and when Yuffie looked into those red eyes that shone like the pagoda of Wutai, she remembered him.

Not completely. His name was lost. But she shared a bond with him, and he was suddenly so close to her heart it almost hurt. It really almost did (_but phantom pain only worked for things that weren't there anymore, and Yuffie-chan still had a heart, she had to or she would break_—).

"Not really, unless you want it." Her smile was sunny, and this little kind of sunny smile was reserved for this one man alone, she_ knew_. His expression – damn near unreadable, just as always – was so nostalgic she was afraid he would break, and the sunny smile faded slowly, so slowly and so cautiously like approaching an animal you didn't want to run away, until she tilted her head with her face so serious.

'_No thank you,_' he said, sitting so placidly and relaxed, but not quite together, that for a split second Yuffie wanted nothing more than to go over and rattle him to make him _work_ again. But Yuffie was afraid of touching him, so afraid, because she knew she would cry if her hands passed through fake scarlet and fake black and fake pale, pale skin. She knew it, knew it so well that it _hurt like hell_, so she let it pass.

"What brings you to this neck of the woods?" She asked, and she pulled up the drink to take a slow sip, eyes never leaving him.

He didn't answer her for a long time, so long she began to think he wouldn't at all. And then that voice came out from bloodless lips.

'_You_.'

He said it so simply she almost dropped her drink because her body froze, like someone cast Blizzaga (_no__, Ice3_) on her very bones and didn't warm them up for a while.

Neither of them moved to make a word.

"I really am almost twenty-one," she changed the subject after a few moments. She looked at him in a sideways glance. "…I think…"

She set down the cup, hands resting in her lap without moving, eyes settled on the form in front of her firmly but with a sort of smile (_she would not cry she would not cry she would not cry never no never ever ever—_) in them. "…That we had agreed," she continued, "that on my twenty first birthday we would get drunk as all hell."

A rare smile stole across his lips, much to her delight because she knew it so well.

'_That was the deal, yes, if I recall correctly._'

"And it was only us because no one else wanted to," Yuffie grinned.

'_I also recall I didn't exactly agree to it._' But his tone was amused, and so were his eyes and the slight, almost unnoticeable crinkles at the corners of both of them.

"Too bad," Yuffie all but crowed in slight glee, because he really didn't say anything to the proposition, but she had taken his silence as a positive and grinned with such a happiness she knew he didn't want to burst her bubble all those years ago. "'Cause you're gonna have to deal with it. This November, we are going to get drunk as all hell and then gorge ourselves on seasalt ice cream and dango."

He broke eye contact, and looked down and off to the side (_in— shame, please don't let it be shame, dear Leviathan, because I need this just as much as he does, if he's really even sitting here at all—_).

'…_Almost November…? I missed two years already… I already missed two years._'

She frowned.

"What are you talking about? You're here now, ain'cha-"

'…_I'm sorry_,'

and it was so sincere it broke her heart.

"-Vin…nie…" And just like that, she blinked and he was gone (_or maybe the wind had stolen him, that dastardly cruel force, but the wind had always been a playful little thing and it would give him back, right—?_), and nothing else was there except for a few lonely beer cans.

And the worst part was that the only thing she knew would confirm he had been there, the only thing that proved his existence, was slipping from her mind like that water in her cupped hands, and then the name was gone, too.

Yuffie wouldn't let herself cry as she sat there for a long time, until standing abruptly and dragging her sorry little behind on home (_which wasn't home_).

o

Then, her whole world changed when something new was added into the equation. _Meet Sora_, and she liked the kid from the start (_because he didn't remind her of anyone, not even the little boy who once had Geostigma whose name escaped her—_).

He was young (_fourteen years old – and when she was his age, she had already been thrown out of home to redeem her homeland)_, innocent (_no blood on his hands – she was just like him, once, but that had passed quickly enough and she was stained just like the rest of AVA—_), and he was looking for his friends (_she was, too_). He saw things black and white, maybe just a little too much (_she wanted to see colors, but she should have been thankful for shades of grey_).

His hair was too spiky, and his eyes were too blue, but he was young and his hair was brown, so she didn't mind.

Then, meet Donald and Goofy.

They couldn't possibly remind her of anyone – no, they didn't, because -(_Cait_… _who?)_ because someone she had known was once upon a time a little cat with a goofy crown and cape, and Goofy was leaning more towards a dog-cartoon thing with a funny laugh and _never _Irish – so she couldn't help but love them and laugh and think they were funny.

Meet Riku.

She met him first – no, saw him first would be more appropriate – in Traverse Town. She had a little glimpse, just a small one from the window of that little house when the Keyblade suddenly captured their lives up in its own little web of lockets.

She saw silver hair, and that was all she needed – she undoubtedly knew she had met someone very similar to him, once, because almost on instinct she was barraged with a tirade of emotions, all these emotions _that hurt her over all over again_.

Anger, hatred (_And oh god, my mother, my mother and Aeris and __**why did you do this I hate you**_—) then sympathy and a rush of pity and not-quite-affection because she _recognized him_ – and then she knew she had never met him before.

Disappointment.

Then, meet Kairi.

Nobody. This little girl didn't remind her of anybody, because she wasn't so little (_when Yuffie was her age, she was already a little rat who stole for fun and for home, and fourteen wasn't so little after all—_).

Then Yuffie peered at the girl's young, round face a little harder and wondered why she wasn't younger and why her hair wasn't in a braid, and why her purple clothes weren't a purple dress and why her name wasn't Marlene.

It passed, and Yuffie tried to let it go. (_Gods, she really did, but some wounds just wouldn't close and she just kept pouring on in that salt._)

Meet Riku, for real this time. And he wasn't a frightened little boy trying to act tough, he was overcome by that evil—

They were in Hollow Bastion (_their supposed home, that was what they told Sora, but it wasn't it wasn't it wasn't because her home was Wutai and she knew it—_), decrepit and ancient and torn from age, watching the two duel it out, and she saw Cid and could tell he wanted one of his cancer sticks and wanted one _right then, even if Shera had broken that habit so long ago._

And then that silver-haired little boy wasn't a little boy, but when the silver hair grew and he turned into a man, for a brief moment - a flash, quicker than a butterfly's wings - Yuffie thought, perhaps, that the man had once haunted her dreams.

She wasn't afraid. Not anymore.

o

Yuffie, Leon, Aeri(-_s_)th and Cid slowly began to realize that their time (_but what time, because she could hardly remember if… no, she remembered that they never had a time to play hero—_) was over.

So they just tried to help, but they weren't the heroes. Not this time.

Before meeting Riku and Kairi, to make some extra munny (_gil_) on the side, Yuffie dragged Squall off to go sign up for a tournament (_see the sun again!_) in a different world.

They could all travel to so many different worlds. She found a little bit of hope – maybe those figures from her dreams (_NO, from real life from my life from my beautiful Planet that Cid and Aerith don't remember and they are real they are they are they are—_) had escaped from a crumbling world.

She wanted to meet them, and touch them, and hug them and feel their hair and fur and fake fur, too (_but please don't get your hopes up, otherwise this time we really _will _break_).

When they got there, to the colossal and magnificent coliseum, the blessed light brown wooden doors huge and the statues bright and gold as (_Command materia_) the sun, the welcoming party of one was a stout little _goat-thing that was grossness_ – not that Yuffie said anything.

When Squall walked off to the arena, Yuffie held back for a moment in the almost claustrophobic beige-colored brick room to ask the little goat-man if he had ever met a man wearing a red cape – he said yes, and in fact that man was already signed up and waiting in the arena, and did she want to fight him?

She ignored him; a hope welled up like a gigantic blazing bonfire of happiness inside of her and she felt _**alive**_, she felt _**alive and that happiness was so big it almost hurt—**_

And a jump, skip and a hop later, she was ready to _**fly**_.

She would have plummeted, if she had taken off, for it was not the man at the bar all those nights ago, but that pretend big brother with chocobo hair.

She was disappointed, but still so happy (_Cloud, you big fat fart—_).

"…Yuffie," he stated, voice muffled through her head because she hugged him (_damn tight, too, a big ol' Barret hug-_) and she looked up with a big grin to see his face.

She saw his eyes (_and she **would not cry goddammit**_—).

"Cloud?"

He had to remember, he _had _to, because he hadn't been in Traverse Town and his head hadn't been messed with. It _couldn't _have been-

But that completely dulled look in his eyes said otherwise. She looked at her pretend big brother, her gaze bore into his long and hard, and it took forever and ever, almost an eternity, but _something finally sparked_.

Her grin returned tenfold, because that life she longed for was back in mako blue, and she wanted him to tell her about their _adventures_, their _lives_, hers and his and Aeris's and Cid's and the Red that was more orange and the cook/martial artist sister and the big black bear man who she was sure was called Barret and her quiet vampire man who she wanted to meet more than anything, _anything_ in the world—

Then, he looked up at Squall Leonhart (_her grin froze and died and no, Cloud, remember please—_) and the recognition died out in less than a second, and was replaced by that _look_.

That look in Cid's eyes. Squall's eyes.

Her own eyes whenever she looked in the mirror, before she took a walk in the wasteland that was so much more than that (_a frozen homeland_).

And then, later, Yuffie was ashamed of herself (_because it wasn't his fault, this man she had never really known, it wasn't, but she couldn't help it all the same—_).

Because she had never hated Squall Leonhart until then.

o

"Where did you get that cape? Where did you get that claw?"

He didn't answer, because he didn't remember anymore, and Yuffie hated him, too.

And she felt (_so so so so so damn bad and sorry_) horrible, but it was growing like a fungus, like a virus. A big, mean nasty virus or stomach flu that only Aerith's chicken noodle soup (_Tifa's piping hot tomato soup—_) could cure.

And _dammit_, the woman's name was lost _again_.

Yuffie saw her vampire man (_she knew she had called him a vampire before, just knew it, and until she found out his name would keep on doing it—_) in her dreams, sometimes.

"Won't you stay a while?" She would ask.

Sometimes he did.

Sometimes he didn't.

And when he did, she would pull him along by that golden gauntlet and make him climb the mountains of Da Chao with her (_to feel alive again_) and speak Wutainese (_to remember her family, her home and love_) and talk for the sake of hearing familiar voices (_his voice, and her old voice, not this one – her old one, when she was sixteen and loving it, stealing materia and fighting a million monsters and the general and his mother). _

Other times – when he was never really there at all (_which were the times she would wake up and tell herself her eyes were watering because she probably accidentally stabbed herself with her thumbs again, because it _didn't hurt one damn bit _and she was not crying_), she would ask the empty space for his name.

The one time – so close – that she almost had it; reaching out, drifting out to the tip of her tongue –

"Yuffie, Yuffie; Sora did it, we can go _home_!"

Yuffie didn't hate Aerith. Wouldn't let herself. So she didn't let the almost angry and almost crying shout from her throat that would've been a name out. She smiled tiredly, leaving her bed in the hotel for one last time, and when Aerith left the room, whispered,

"No, we're not."

o

It happened, one day.

While she was dreaming of her vampire and little Irish robot and the Red that had always been more orange (_but her vampire had always been a little closer than all of them_), another figure added to her brain that would have been Sora.

But she woke up, and he was just another faceless entity in her head that wouldn't leave her alone.

It frightened her, terrified her beyond belief, and she forced herself to insomnia, barely sleeping and only when her body desperately needed it (_because she couldn't bear to forget anyone else, and what if every time she slept, somebody disappeared?_)

But she missed her vampire man (_and the cook, and the big bear Barret, and the robot and his creator and the Red that had always been more orange_), and when night fell for the seventh time since her arrival to Hollow Bastion (_not home, this is not home—_) she slept.

"_I'm not ready yet."_

_And she frowned at the beautiful kimono that slid through her fingers like silk – because it was – and damn Chekhov to hell for giving it to her so long ago. _

_And she fingered the glowing orb, so small, that fit so well into the palm of her hand._

_Both felt like the personification of her life—_

_No. Never. What her life was supposed to be, maybe. _

_And Yuffie loved Wutai, loved it with all her heart and soul, and she wanted nothing more than to ascend as the reigning Empress to lead her beautiful country into glory—_

_But she wasn't ready yet, and she was meek, and small, and not big enough to get the job done._

"…_Ready for what?"_

_Yuffie promptly let out a surprised sound and fell from the loud orange (if a color could be loud – which it was) wing of the Tiny Bronco and deftly landed on her feet a split second after the initial shock wore off._

"_Hey, monster man! You scared me for a second there." A greeting, accompanied by a big grin and a hearty wave._

_He said nothing, but stood silently like an alert sentinel, scarlet eyes watching her unblinkingly and not judging._

"…_Is it my turn for watch?" Yuffie asked – not nervously, never nervously, because she could smooth over lies like ironing out a few small wrinkles, it came so naturally – and she held the fabric and orb behind her back casually._

"_No." Short, concise, to the point, exactly like himself; Yuffie shrugged and pulled herself back up to the low wing. _

_Much to Yuffie's surprise, the man quietly walked towards the plane and settled himself beneath her, leaning against the plane near where her legs dangled above the ground. They both watched the open ocean, a quiet, gentle roar against the night's music of cricket chirps and gentle wind, all under the same free navy blue sky. The dots of white littering the expanse of inky blue blanket like gems were unusually clear._

"_Do ya need something?" _

_Silence, a pregnant pause._

"_No, I do not."_

"…_You aren't going to make sure that the tents full of our sleeping comrades aren't going to magically catch fire or be attacked by super silent samurai monkeys?"_

"…_I seriously doubt that either options will happen."_

"_Just wondering. You don't seem like a very social person."_

_The man looked up at her briefly, never turning his head fully, and looked back towards the glowing moon above the sea._

"_Probably not. I suppose…" he trailed off, and it was Yuffie's turn to watch the man almost struggle to form words. "I suppose that, once alone for a very long time, being able to talk to another person is very strange, but also very comforting," he confessed to the ocean, and she overheard. _

"_I grew up by myself," Yuffie said unexpectedly, after a few moments. The man quirked one eyebrow in slight confusion._

"_Well, I mean, I had a childhood. But once I turned twelve, my old man decided that I needed to go on a journey," she continued – leaving out certain bits – "And I went back once," -(damn Chekhov, damn that stupid kimono that that stupid ninja gave her the one time she visited, and it felt like it was watching her) "-but I left after about a day and was alone until AVALANCHE found me. So I guess I can identify with that. Because… even if I could talk to shop owners, or people on the street, I could never just wake up and leave my tent or inn room, or even just a nice little niche in a tree, and have someone to say hello to for two days in a row."_

_The silence between them was more comfortable. Yuffie wondered absently while fingering the Steal command materia if they were a bit more comfortable around each other – not just because of their first real encounter – but because they were… _

_Maybe _optional_ was the word._

_There was the very real possibility that maybe AVALANCHE didn't travel through that forest, and so never found her. And there was a possibility that maybe they never played the scientist's game and found the basement room, and left him to sleep for Leviathan-knows-how-long. _

_That particular thought made her shudder – she didn't know why – and she absently began picking at a tiny little loose thread on the disgustingly beautiful kimono. _

"_Why do you have a kimono?" Softly said, but she could distinguish the light, slight accent – Yuffie realized that he was Wutainese. _

_The experiments must have drained him of his color._

"_None of your business," Yuffie said childishly, and stuck her tongue at with a grin that clearly said to drop it._

"…_The Kisaragi Clan has ruled over Wutai for well over a century," the man replied, not letting the matter drop. Her blood ran a little cold, and she tried not to look at him in alarm, tried to quell her every so gently shaking hands. _

"_So?"_

"_I have heard of the Wutain War. Nanaki was kind enough to tell me the events in recent years, and from what I understand… the linage had not been dethroned."_

_Yuffie didn't say anything, because he knew, and denying it would be useless – this was a spot, a very tight corner he had put her into, and if she wanted to rob these people senseless (which she didn't, dear Leviathan she didn't because they were starting to be her family, so much better than the family offered back in Wutai—), they couldn't know that she needed materia. Badly._

_When she stayed silent for longer than expected, the man continued softly. "You are Kisaragi Yuffie, daughter to the Lord of Wutai. Princess." _

_Then she was angry._

"_Shut up," and it was a little harsher than intended, "just shut up. I'm no princess. So what if I am the daughter of Godo Kisaragi? I'm no princess. Wutai isn't proud enough to have a princess. I'm not good enough – yet – to _be _its princess. Shinra robbed us blind," she all but snarled, and then was ashamed for completely losing her temper._

_He looked at her, said nothing, and looked back at the ocean. Unfazed – on the whole – but his eyebrows were creased up, a little. _

_She sighed. "Sorry. Gawd. Look, the war basically killed us. You haven't been to Wutai after the war – it was glorified, before, but it's just a rattrap tourist resort town now. It's disgusting."_

"…_What do you intend to do about it?"_

_This was unexpected, but not unwelcome – not at all. She jumped down from her perch, letting the kimono fall from her fingers into the white sand, a proud expression crossing her features for once, facing the man with confidence._

"_When old Godo kicks the bucket, I'll be the Lady of Wutai, and I'm going to tear it down, and rebuild from the foundation up. Any tourist agencies and hotels will be shut down and I'll burn 'em if I have to! _

"_The land is fertile enough to grow crops on overdrive to help improve our economy, and we'll bar our children from the outside world until they know the Wutainese language and our religion well enough to teach it to others. _Then_ they can learn the common language. They'll be raised as shinobi, learn to love our earth, not like the Shinra who are determined to kill it with their mako reactors. The only blacksmiths we have left will take a dozen apprentices to make traditional Wutain weapons, and we'll be a leading nation again, just you wait!"_

_She was breathless with excitement, cheeks flushed from pure adrenaline and it felt like her body was on fire with a purpose, and she hadn't felt this way in a long time. She clutched her Steal materia tightly, and the man regarded her with – what, she didn't know._

_But she broke out into a grin when _Vincent_ smiled – a very small one, a gentle curve at his lips – and said, "That sounds like a good plan."_

Yuffie opened her eyes to Hollow Bastion's sunlight flooding through her window, and sat upright, oddly alight with something akin to adrenaline, and looked into the old, dusty and slightly dirty mirror from across her bed.

She was almost breathless with excitement, cheeks flushed from pure adrenaline, and it felt like her body was on fire with a purpose, and she hadn't felt this way in a long time.

Wutai was no more, however, and the feeling took flight. That was all a long, long time ago.

And her grin, her excitement, stayed on her face like a medal to wear until it faded, so slowly, like she hadn't quite realized Wutai wasn't there anymore.

And when it all went away, Yuffie almost cried – but she was too close (_had been too close for the better part of a year_) to tears and didn't want to splash over. So she stood up, keeping the name to herself like a treasure that wouldn't be real if anyone else saw it, and grinned proudly at her reflection to spite it.


	3. Part Three

A/N: The final part of Pretend. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and favorited this story, as well as encouraged it. Once again, much thanks to T. Costa for betaing the whole thing.

Without further ado, the last installment of this story. :) This is for all those imaginary friends. And you, of course. Here we are again.

o

Hollow Bastion took some getting used to.

It was a mess when they had arrived – the opening of Kingdom Hearts had restored it, but not completely (_and why the hell did it restore this stupid old place instead of her Planet, with lovely Wutai?_), and they had their work cut out for them.

Eventually, the actual town was rejuvenated to suitable living conditions, thanks to Merlin, the amazing and somewhat senile wizard.

Then, already, it was November, and soon enough it came round to the twentieth.

"Happy birthday, Yuffie!"

The man, she knew (_as Vincent, but kept that name in her thoughts because if she said it aloud when he wasn't there, it would mean he wouldn't be real_) had been talking to her, but the rude awakening sent her jolting out of bed, scrabbling for her Conformer until she realized what they were saying – and she didn't comment on the nice dream, because birthdays only come once a year, and she was twenty one today (_and twenty one years ago had been born in a beautiful land, while children played, dreams of flight were beginning to take form, a youth that was never human was betrayed by his kin, young men began to work in this cruelty we call life, and a man slept the years away in a constant nightmare_).

"Heya, guys," and sounding just a little punch drunk from just waking up, she pulled herself up and grinned at Aerith, Cloud, Leon, and Cid (two of whom didn't look quite like it was their idea to wake her up with a cheerful happy birthday, _and guess which two emo men_—).

And Aerith hustled her into the kitchen with some homemade pancakes, blueberry, fluffy and just perfect, already made and waiting for her.

"Birthdays only come once a year," she said merrily as she portioned the little pieces of heaven onto several plates for the rest of the household. "And this year is your twenty first!"

"Eighteenth," Leon corrected her dully because (_he didn't know himself_) Cid and Cloud didn't hear her proclamation.

Yuffie's fork almost fell from her suddenly almost trembling fingers as she remembered, but only almost – and that was what counted, right?

And nobody noticed, which was a good thing, so she brushed it off, tried to lock it in the back of her mind for the moment, and ate.

"Happy birthday, Yuffs," Cloud smiled a bit – it looked weird, because he hadn't smiled in _so long_, but for his pretend sister he made the effort. There hadn't been much to smile about, and Cloud was just a stick in the mud, but Yuffie grinned back tenfold and cursed him childishly with the grin still there when he ruffled her hair. Just like he used to—

When she was sixteen— and wore a green turtleneck sweater without sleeves, and armor, and—

Later, she told them not to worry about it – she was going off to explore for her birthday, so please don't worry if she wasn't back before twilight?

A bit worried, because it is your birthday, don't you want to just take the day off and relax? –Okay, if that's what you really want—have fun.

She smiled like a Cheshire cat, cheeky and wide, and bounced off, until they couldn't see her; then she slowed down to a contemplative, slow stride.

o

Soon enough, the town was behind her, and she was going towards the castle in the distance, the not-so-cold silvery lavender-white-blue surroundings taking the place of dull brick. She didn't really need to worry about Heartless; what did she have that they wanted? Just one heart, not a very important one at all, and of course they wouldn't bother her.

It was a while, far away from the little town that was not her home, until Yuffie felt comfortable to speak loudly and freely, so speak she did.

"You promised you'd get drunk as all hell with me," she told the rough pathway, the cool rock walls, the empty sky that echoed it back to her.

She waited patiently.

'_I… really didn't agree,'_ his slightly amused tone said otherwise;the voice didn't echo, but was very clear and crisp and made her think of autumn wind; she didn't stop walking, but her pace slowed and Yuffie craned her head to look back and grin.

"Long time no see. They say this is home, but I've figured out it isn't."

He was leaning very calmly against the slightly jagged, nature-made wall, a contrast to all the calm, cool colors that made up Hollow Bastion (_which wouldn't be Radiant Gardens until it was properly restored, but she didn't really care about it anymore—_).

'_It isn't,_' he agreed, and she had stopped; he pulled away from the wall and strode very calmly, very relaxed, towards her and she fell into step with him.

"…Then… why does everyone else think it is?" And he was silent for a long time until he answered quietly.

'_I couldn't tell you, because I don't know myself. But… I think,_' he said, Vincent said, and the name rolled around in her head, '_That it is something you need to find for yourself. Or perhaps not. Perhaps there is someone who is waiting to tell you.'_

"Who?"

'_I'm afraid I don't know that, either. …Maybe you know them, but then again, maybe you don't._' She wouldn't walk too close to him, because she was terrified of touching him – but he seemed so real, so real, in comparison to this place and these people.

"Hmm. Well, then… Where are you going?" Because she really didn't know what to say, because just these few moments were very precious to her, and the only time she really felt like herself anymore (_because I am not me I am not me I am not me anymore—_).

'…_Wherever you are. I'm just along for the ride,_' and she grinned like Christmas had come early and bounced off ahead (just like old times when _I _was sixteen and loving it, seventeen and loving it, then eighteen and nineteen and _we_ were all together—!).

She jabbered away like a happy little bird singing a tune, twirling and jumping and so _alive again._

"I know where Cid hides his beer," Yuffie finally said with that certain mischievous Yuffie-esque quality that no doubt screamed danger; Vincent smiled faintly.

"When we get back, I'll grab it, and you have to have some, too," she told him, and he neither agreed nor disagreed which was fine with her, because the company was all she needed.

'_What… about Wutai?' _he finally asked, softly. She had been climbing a rock a ways ahead of him with ease, but the child-like exploring sobered instantly and she slid down without making a sound.

"What about it?" She murmured, quietly, and waited for him to come to her because he was still walking forward.

'…_You loved it,' _he told her, and she knew it already, but to have it just put in her face like that, just a sign with blaring lights that stated the not-so-obvious; she knew it before, but she _knew_ it now.

"I love it," the ninja corrected, but still not loud at all, but still herself – because with this vampire man she was really herself, always was, because he brought out the best and worst in her, in the way that only close friends (or something m-?) could.

He waited patiently.

"I… I don't know," she told him, falteringly, looking ahead and her eyes swiveling to meet his, watching her intently. "I really don't. I think I already know… that we'll never be able to go back," she mumbled unhappily, "I think, because… our Planet… It was alive," she realized.

He nodded affirmatively.

'_It was.'_

"Like… not just earth. Like a living, breathing organism, like a living being," and Aeris's voice floated into her head, that '_this is dead earth,'_ so sadly.

"And… because it wasn't just dead earth… because it, itself, was a living being, not just the things that lived on it like here," and her arms made a grand sweeping motion to further her point, "It will never be able to be alive again. Because the dead don't come back to life."

Vincent looked broken.

And, finally, she broke, too—

And then he embraced her.

o

When Yuffie awakened, it was almost twilight, but not quite, and she was lying on a rock that wasn't all that uncomfortable (_because she grew up living uncomfortably and __**not here not here **__back on the Planet, beautiful Planet—_).

"…Vin…?" (_Because she couldn't bring herself to let that name out if he wasn't there because he wouldn't be real anymore—_) She was shivering in the hazy late afternoon summer sunrays, like her system was being cleaned out with ice cold water, and she jumped up, rubbing her arms a bit with ice cold hands.

She stood for a time, arms dropping eventually to soak in those dying rays (_last dying rays of the Planet, escaping on the Shera, goodbye Wutai and I'm so so so sorry Red and Barret and Reeve but most of all Vincent—_), and after a while she dully realized that her cheeks were wet and her eyes weren't dry at all, but she left them and stood for a time, and when the last rays really were coming out, she stomped her foot and swore before turning around and walking back.

"Sadistic bastard," she murmured but it wasn't all that bad, because Yuffie was confident that when she opened Cid's private little beer safe he would be there (_to get her out of trouble or be her accomplice in it, and there was no other way because he would always be a part of it, she remembered telling him once_), and so she walked with a faltered spring in her step as she picked up the pieces.

After a time, when the bailey was coming up in the far distance, barely discernable, and the pathway was widening, the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up and a bucket of metaphorical ice water was dumped over her head again, goosebumps all over—

(_And she knew this feeling, she knew it, she just couldn't remember, but flashes of dark caverns and haunting green light from the mako in the center of the Planet and a Crater, a big Crater, where the one-winged angel—_)

She gasped and swiveled on the spot, not quite knowing what she knew was there.

There was a man (_but not her man_) with pale skin (_but not as pale as his_) with long, long silver (_not black_) hair in black leather (_not red, worn cotton_) with a long, long sword she knew she had seen before (_but not a gun_—).

Startlingly green eyes, almost jade and almost glowing, focused on her.

Stony face.

And the sword, and the hair and the eyes and the clothes and the lone black wing unfurling from his back and _oh Leviathan—_

But then Yuffie took another look at him.

Another look. A closer look.

And he was tired. His silver hair wasn't as silky as it once was, his skin was paler than she remembered, his black leather wasn't as black and was even a little scuffed, and his sword wasn't smiling sinisterly down at her like she remembered.

His eyes were tired.

And there was recognition in them—

"You know," she said simply, and she super-glued the few pieces of herself back together and didn't quaver.

He dipped his head a fraction of an inch in acknowledgement.

She took a breath and walked a few steps forward. "And… you remember," she said to him.

Recognition in those eyes didn't die out, because she knew that he was almost ethereal, even more so than Aeris, that he was truly untouchable if this did nearly nothing to him.

She walked forward slowly, and he didn't step back or forward. He waited for her.

The blade stayed in its sheath, and Yuffie knew he wouldn't pull it out (_—the Masamune, made in Wutai by the master blacksmith of the land who died before she was born—_).

"But you're looking for answers," and he didn't say anything but she knew this was right, "Can you… please, tell me." Because she needed to know more than she needed to breathe, she was desperately scrabbling at her own mind again and again for something that was so hidden it wouldn't come out.

"You remember me," these first words spoken were almost like a jolt to her system because it was a low, smooth voice, in rich baritone tones, that she recognized with a slight spark of fear. She quickly squashed it and focused on him, light gray eyes focusing on jaded green.

"Yes."

"…But not completely," he mused. She nodded stonily.

"No wonder…" and he almost seemed to forget she was there for a moment, "You haven't tried to harm me yet."

Yuffie tried not to be shaken, but continued to meet his gaze without flinching (_even though her hands were shaking, balled in fists, shaking so much __**and I can almost remember you how could you do this to them I hate you**_).

"I… harm… but…?"

Her thoughts were a confused, dripping, jumbled mess all worked up in _knots_, lots of _knots_ (_and I should have paid more attention in rope classes, with a groan while hanging off of Da Chao's carved faces—_), and her breathing was a bit heavier. There was recognition in his eyes, but he slowly began to walk past her, away from the town—

"Wait," her voice was a little raspy. He kept walking—

"_Sephiroth_!" It came out in a strangled scream, and she turned and ran after him, colliding with his hard back and her arms wrapped around his middle – and she tried not to cry, she tried _so damn hard._

The lone ebony wing was uncomfortable against her shoulder and cheek, not at all soft, but he was not a soft man, a fallen angel—

"…You poor, poor child," it was a murmur.

All was still.

"…I want to remember," the muffled voice came from his back after a few moments; "I want to remember you, and Aeris, and Cloud, and Cid and the pretty cook with a mean punch and Barret and the Red that's more orange and my vampire," and she didn't even remember to feel bad for getting a few tears on Sephiroth's wing.

When she finally peeked up, Sephiroth had turned his head a fraction of an inch, green-almost-jade eyes meeting hers (_and this time, she felt no fear_).

"Jenova isn't in you anymore," she whispered, hands still loosely clasped around his middle.

"…Broken fragments are always sharper than the glass as a whole," finally came the reply, and there was sense in that, so she could understand because it was so painfully true.

Yuffie retracted her arms, feeling like such a child to this man, even if she was twenty-one now, ready to drink and be merry with her imaginary man; she watched him, and he slowly turned to face her.

"It isn't there… and… wasn't your real mother. But… my mother…?" And yes, indeed, broken fragments were always so much easier to cut oneself on than the glass.

"No, she wasn't," Sephiroth nodded slowly, and Yuffie wondered if she imagined that flash of what could have been pain in his eyes, "And your mother... should I tell you of your own mother...? Funny, because… I suppose… I think, then…"

He exhaled a quiet breath.

"I would rather like having someone not hate me," it was very mild for such an intense man, and this made her want to cry again – funny, because she had been trying not to so hard before today—

Yuffie rubbed her eyes, all traces of tears gone, and she looked up at him a little more whole (_but still not all together, and why the hell is everything so broken up—_).

"I won't hate you."

This seemed to be a shock to _his_ own system – Yuffie could see his eyes suddenly focusing more sharply on hers, but she stayed strong, meeting his gaze levelly.

Like many other situations, this one had the strange oddity of maybe lasting a half second, or several long minutes.

"Jenova isn't there, anymore, is she? …You could try running your own life. Be someone else than the bad guy this time around."

"…You are getting cut by glass," Sephiroth replied simply after a while, eyes still on hers. "…But you're stronger, than what you were expected to be."

Yuffie breathed.

Twilight was there, already, and Yuffie looked round as she heard gentle footsteps behind her.

"Yuffie… and Sephiroth," Aeris – Aerith, of course (_either one, Yuffie couldn't tell, and it frightened her subconsciously a little_), said softly, holding the whicker basket of flowers lightly, gentle green eyes meeting clouded almost-jade, and something passed between the two that Yuffie understood she wouldn't _ever _be able to understand, not in a million years, and settled for watching.

"I'm sorry," he said, and nothing was lost and she smiled, lips curving up and eyes kind, because it was so easy to tell that he was forgiven a long time ago.

"Yuffie's right, Sephiroth. Try to be someone other than the bad guy, this time."

He didn't quite know what to say to that – Aeris just inclined her head, and Yuffie, won't you come back with me? in that soft-spoken voice, turning and walking with those same gentle footsteps.

Yuffie stayed, for a moment, and they watched each other. She smiled, not a terribly happy smile, but it was a start – he nodded, and he was just a man, just a man, and maybe, this time, he would try.

There was really no telling, but she nodded, too, and turned to run.

o

Aerith asked for nothing, Aerith said nothing, and Aerith, maybe even, expected nothing.

She just smiled in that gentle way all too familiar and so comforting, as the two walked down that cobblestone road to home (_not home, no, never_), and Yuffie couldn't help but relax in the woman's presence.

Because Aerith was a calming factor, Aerith was all that was good in this world and the next and the next after that, and Aeris was ethereal to the point of unreal (_and when did she still mix those two up?_).

And, for the second time in what seemed really like only minutes, Yuffie opened her mouth uncertainly, but with a Yuffie-esque quality of spray-on confidence, and said:

"You know."

And the woman dressed in pink with the beautiful caramel braid and no little red jacket (_made of jean-like material, soft and warm and wonderfully _safe_, but forever gone along with that puke-mobile plane and all the others_) just smiled.

Just smiled, maybe nostalgically or maybe a little mysteriously, just smiled a little unhappily or very gently.

"And what do I know?" Came the soft reply, because everything about Aerith (_Aeris Aeris Aeris Aeris—_) was soft and gentle. The sister-figure taking on the role of mother-figure in Yuffie's little pretend family, her little inner universe that didn't have anything to do with gardens or bastions or forever night, had everything to do with sun and grass and _living_ (_but with it's own fair share of darkness, too, cool and collected and _safe_, no matter what anyone else said about bronze claws or sharp, almost unnerving scarlet eyes_).

And there was silence, comfortable and undemanding and pleasant and just like a day unwinding from playing and nothing but joy. (_And if only._)

Then the Great Ninja Yuffie (_and there was something more, after that, but the title was tickling her head in the back of her mind and wouldn't come out_) opened her mouth again and the silence was dispelled.

"Aeris."

And gray eyes focused right on forest green eyes that just softened and made Yuffie want to cry (_but she wasn't so weak, and she had done her fair share of crying for a lifetime and was ready to be _done _with tears_), but those gray eyes stayed dry and surprisingly, almost unnaturally, calm.

And Aeris (_Aeris, once more – Aeris from the Planet, Aeris dead and gone and never coming back, unreal and beautiful while in perfect harmony with the Planet she was supposed to be bound to, forevermore, no longer living—_) was there again, a complete and utter dumping of ice cold water over Yuffie's head.

And, for a moment, Aeris didn't seem to quite know _what_ to say as her eyes were lost in musings.

But she smiled again, good-naturedly, everything coming up roses.

"Yes," she responded with a sort of shine in her eye that didn't feel half as good to look at to experience, Yuffie knew, "Aeris. You're remembering, aren't you?"

Twilight was setting into night, and as the sun was dying, really setting this time, Aeris's familiar brown boots stopped at the steps to Merlin's house. She sat down, and didn't need to invite Yuffie to do so, as well, because everything was just so confusing all of a sudden but so clear, and all the ninja wanted to do was give the woman a Phoenix Down and close her eyes for a time.

"…I'm remembering, but why did I forget in the first place?"

The whisper came quickly and left in a whoosh of breath. Yuffie had never appreciated her light accent from Wutai, as it had never been noticeable (_never discernable through all of the 'grossness!'es and 'oh my GAWD'es, and even, maybe, 'Vinnie VinVin'es—_), truly until that moment.

"…What do you remember?" And there was no rush, no push. Aeris would have waited hours and hours, patient and accepting and watching the world around her with love as she waited.

So Yuffie told her.

Yuffie told her she remembered another woman, a martial artist who made the best food, warm and beautiful and strong, a man named Barret full of chocolate muscles and a teddy bear on the inside, a Red that was more orange, Cloud. Her. Wutai. The Planet.

_And him_, she said, eyes lost in the sky and watching those stars that she must have been from, once.

"Him."

And Aeris knew. She knew, and Yuffie was relieved, because he was _real_, but the name was hers to keep, for now. And somehow that was strangely relieving.

"It's all a lot of crap to forget, isn't it?" Yuffie finally muttered, mildly bitten fingernails idly pulling at a loose thread on her most _amazingly awesome shoes that were not yellow_.

"No," came the warm response, "It's a lot of good things to remember."

Yuffie nodded, the wording somehow charming her, and laid down her head upon her knees, set on legs that weren't so skinny anymore, filling out with muscle (_like my mama, the ninja, Lady of Wutai—_).

"But… you still don't know why in the first place, do you?"

The ninja shook her head slightly, gray eyes on the dead that came back to life and the calm night of quiet town and shining dark blue sky behind her.

"…The Planet… our Planet…" And she paused, a moment, perhaps delicately picking out the words she would like to use; Yuffie wondered what was going through her head, for the excitement she would've have expected upon finding out, well, _everything_ was suddenly missing. And in its place was a strange sort of cool, aloof detachment.

(_Because if I can't handle it, I won't let myself let go of this semblance of sanity, I promise, Vinnie._)

"…Because I was dead, once," Aeris suddenly said, unexpectedly, snapping Yuffie from her mild reverie; "Because I was dead, and I was supposed to stay that way. But I didn't. Because… maybe the Planet wanted me to live. Or maybe… maybe I'm just being too egotistical. Maybe it just wanted some of its children to live… and it just happened to be Sephiroth and I."

Because he was supposed to be dead, too, Yuffie remembered.

(_Green lights, the scent of wet earth, mako – and the gate to tomorrow isn't the light of heaven, it's the darkness of the depths of the earth—_)

She tried not to think about it too much, because the night was warm but she felt as if ice water was dancing down her spine.

"…And… And we couldn't do anything, where we were. My mother, Zack, me… And neither could AVALANCHE, the Turks, Neo-Shinra.

"Nobody could save the Planet this time around," she continued softly, almost dreamily, eyes closed as if she were in a trance and Yuffie sat, captivated, "The Planet couldn't save the Planet. And… it was just so unfair, for it, like a young child in the vast expanse of the universe, waiting for someone to help it stand. Anyone. And we weren't there.

"I think – I think it was a little angry. Because the darkness was there. And it had help from its children with Meteor, with Geostigma, with Deepground."

And _flash_, dozens of images seemed to flood into Yuffie's brain of a blood red sky filled with fire and the ominous rock, children and adults alike dying with the strangest bruises, soulless men and women wearing blue and masks and a child; a ten-year old child, forever ten, with auburn hair and the tiniest smile once it was coaxed out.

"But we didn't help it this time," Aeris murmured, unhappy forest eyes averting almost reverently from the expanse of beautiful sky to her clasped hands. "We didn't help it when it needed it most, because the darkness was raping our Planet of everything it held close to it. Why should we live when the very being who keeps us alive should die?"

Her voice became very quiet.

"_Why should we live when the very being who kept us alive had to die?_"

And there was a slight quaver, a mild trembling that sent Yuffie into goosebumps and shivers, because as hard as it was for her to remember, it was harder for cool, calm and collected Aeris to talk about it.

Her voice trembled more.

"It was the time for the Planet's death, Yuffie. It was supposed to happen, I'm sure of it, but it didn't _want_ to die. It wasn't _ready yet_."

And her hands vainly scrabbled at her heart for a few moments as tears quietly slid down her face, trying to comfort it or tear it out (_Yuffie wasn't sure which_) or just _do something _to make the pain go away, because Yuffie knew all too well how much it hurt, and she couldn't do anything, just watch, because this was one of Aeris's days, still so hard to diagnose.

"It was angry, Yuffie," she murmured, tears dripping down like rain, "Please don't be mad with it… It was just angry, that everyone who survived, who weren't dead already, couldn't save it but could save themselves. And it acted on that unhappiness, but I know it didn't mean to… It acted, and took away the last thing it had access to."

And that was hardly fair, Yuffie thought, because they _tried_, _and dear Leviathan, I am so sorry, I am so sorry, I'm so sorry… _And her memories were gone, then, because that was the last thing the Planet acted on in anger, in unhappiness, in frustration and rage like a child. And that was hardly fair.

"And this…" Aeris whispered, those beautiful green eyes fogged and cloudy and not at all Aeris; no, instead, a pale alabaster statue, hunched over in pain and _beautiful_, untouchable and a moon being in the starlight, the moonlight, the distant light of the cold glow of the street lamps.

"This is our punishment."

And then—

Silence.

For a long time, just silence, and both listening to the other's breathing.

(_Trying to breathe. An attempt, and nothing more._)

When Yuffie looked up, she was Aerith once more.

The woman slowly unclenched her hands, slowly unknotted her brow and stopped beating herself with the past, green eyes mild again, pink lips settling back into the familiar upturned curve that was never fake. Not exactly happy, but picking itself up again. And that was a start.

"Squall's world was like ours, too, I think. Maybe there were many worlds like ours, and there are other people out there, looking. Just like you."

Aerith breathed in and sighed deeply, standing up after a few minutes, the tear tracks rubbed off. She smiled down and put her hand out to help Yuffie up, whose head was spinning in wonder.

"Maybe one day you'll remember," the flower girl offered gently and honestly.

Yuffie nodded, and they went inside.

o

"Cid's own private little beer vault." And there she was, late at night at eleven thirty and everyone went to bed because eleven wasn't that late at all – Yuffie wanted to cackle, wanted to cackle in a way that was very familiar, but if she did, would that bring him out or make him leave?

_Please come out, _she mentally pleaded, but her mental facilities were drained for the day and no wonder telepathy didn't work anymore, she thought silently, because she remembered when it did work, when she really needed him to be around, with this Vincent and the real one, the one on the Planet child that was so angry it would take her memories of him away.

(_And this made her a little bit bitter._)

So she tried not to think on it too hard (_but opened up that old scar, peeled off that gross scab that was so much fun to pick at, no matter how much it stung in the end_), but sat down pleasantly with the beer can and closed her eyes.

And she waited.

And she drank, all alone, drinking drinking drinking and knowing she would do so until she was almost unable to drag her sorry little behind back to bed. And waiting, all alone, and she didn't want to seem that way – she was stronger than that, she didn't _need _to depend on a memory (_even if she did, she did so much, because it was just _so_ damn hard_), so she thought and drank, and drank and thought.

She scoured her mind for memories, she closed her eyes and pretended she could feel wind on her face, searched for a picture of a past life and wait for it to burn itself into her eyelids, and she thought she wouldn't mind so much if it stayed there, ever single time she closed her eyes for a while—

'_You are dangerously close to intoxicating yourself to the point of sickness and well beyond,' _the voice finally came.

Yuffie's eyes didn't open quickly like they asked her to, but she allowed them to open one at a time, slowly, almost cautiously, until they eased open fully with a sparkle. A brightness (a happiness that wasn't there when he wasn't).

"Pshaw," she responded, and was genuinely surprised to find that her voice was no longer quiet and soft but regular and slurred a little, sounding more than a little drunk like a red headed Turkey-butt she had once known; she cleared her throat a little.

"A promise 's a promise," Yuffie reminded with a grin, and pushed over an untouched can at the man sitting opposite of her. His hair was still black, his skin still pale as the moon, his cape still red as the deepest embers of fire; and his eyes were still scarlet, but not the same.

Yuffie wondered why.

'_A promise is a promise,' _he agreed, but did not touch the cold tin of the uncomforting drink. '_But you are still so young.'_

And his eyes, his eyes were still scarlet, but not the same, and they were unhappy eyes – she did not see it in the scarlet depths, because eyes are not the windows to a soul, they betray nothing and you can hear nothing from them; she saw from his hair, suddenly not quite as messy and untamed as before, from his skin, paler than moon and resembling starlight, from his cape that was suddenly more worn, but his eyes were still scarlet.

And isn't that strange, that she was wrong before, and his eyes were really the only things that stayed the same.

"I'm twenty-one, Vinnie," and it was a very hoarse whisper because her voice had been captured by the devilish can in her hand, "And you aren't so old."

He didn't quite have anything to say to that, and his face was drawn, but not tightly, the scowl gone and a more heavily thoughtful look filling his face's blank canvas.

'_And you aren't so young,_' and his voice was troubled and it troubled her, almost shook her, but Yuffie wouldn't let it, so it didn't.

"You promised," she suddenly said, and this time he complied, and threw his head back and took a long drink.

'_I'm sorry,_' he murmured, but she shook her head and repeated it, and he was sorry because he left her alone, all alone, and she was sorry because she left him behind and just as alone, and they weren't very different at all.

"I want you to stay," She finally rasped, Yuffie rasped, the ninja rasped and the child rasped, all together (and isn't that strange, that the only time she could pull herself together was when she was broken most of all).

'_You're hurting yourself,' _And his hands were on the table and her hands were on the table, '_You keep cutting yourself. You need to stop._'

"I'm a sucker for self-torture," because she was beating herself with it; it was a very soft whisper, a very laughing whisper, a very choked whisper. Her eyes, which betrayed nothing because eyes never did, never will, were watching intently and absorbedly but fearfully as his hand was closer to hers, because if his touch wasn't real and if her hand felt nothing, she would break this time, she would break into so many pieces not even Aerith (_no, _Aeris, Aeris,_ Aeris_) could put her back together.

'_Please don't be,_' his voice, so soft and suddenly so clear, like crystal or fresh spring water in the mountains of Wutai, almost begged her, in a way, and she was almost paralyzed, wanting to jerk back so badly, but she _couldn't_, because she _had to know_—

And he didn't come any closer. His hand, gloved and black and beautifully, terribly human, traced hers lightly without touching it, right above it and she would swear she felt the warmth from it, emanating and pulsing and vivid and _live_.

And she was a sucker for self-torture but she was afraid. So afraid. So she sat very still, still as stone and unmoving like a Yuffie-statue, never moving, barely breathing, so comfortable but so afraid.

'_You need to stop,_' he said gently, so gently, his eyes meeting hers and something that she would never be able to write down in words passing between them, a raw emotion, raw and bleeding and _there_.

"I can't," came the little sound and she suddenly trembled violently, suddenly so tired.

'…_You _can _stop, you can't keep doing this. This sort of unhappiness is not meant for you,' _and his face was suddenly so much more old and weary, but so much more alive and fiery for a brief moment.

'_You need to be alive._'

And his hand shot forward, like a rocket, like a ninja, like a vampire, like a chocobo with a giant snake called the Midgar Zolom on its heels, and it shot forward and _touched hers_, and she didn't know what to make of it.

And it stayed there.

'_Come,_' he murmured quietly, and she dazedly followed, and he led her from the wooden table down the hall lit in blue moonlight that was both chilling and not at all; Vincent quietly led her to her bed, and he sat down beside her as she toppled into bed and tried not to cry, but he whispered to let it out and she _did_, hands still linked, the tears, the real ones, the ones she wasn't able to shed up until now flowing freely and wildly and the moonlight was there, too, and she was filled with the unexplainable urge to _run_, she had to run and run and keep running until she made it to Da Chao's beautiful carved faces, until she made it to him again, a yearning to just _rush _–

The gloved hand quietly brushed the tears away.

And, real or not, he was beautiful, he was tangible, he was out of this world and amazing and so terribly, terribly sad, so Yuffie didn't bother to rub off the last of the tears from her face and she kissed him.

(And she kissed him like a girl would kiss a boy, how a woman would kiss a man, how a soldier would kiss his best friend before they went into the battle and didn't know if they would come out whole or not. She kissed him like a Yuffie would kiss a Vincent—)

And he didn't mind, she knew, because this time, he was _real _(even if only a little bit).

And a gloved hand gently finished brushing off those tears that weren't supposed to be so plentiful, and he gently closed her eyes because she was just so tired,_ so_ tired, and he laid her down to rest, and whispered in her ear,

'_You'll be Yuffie again in the morning_.'

And she knew no more, because the sleep that she longed for settled over her like a blanket and consciousness slipped away.

o

When she woke up again, the golden sun was kissing her face, her skin, her eyes as they opened slowly. She felt punch-drunk, a little, but she sat up quickly after a moment, plain white bed sheets falling from her torso, and everything was suddenly so_ clear_.

And Yuffie did jump out the window this time.

She did run, run as fast as her legs could pump and run as fast as she could in the golden early morning sunlight that warmed her very bones and heart, _rushed_ until everything was a blur, a whirlwind of colors and smells and good feelings – she ran because she wasn't going towards something, wasn't leaving something, wasn't looking for something, but she ran for the sake of running and shedding off that fake skin, leaving it behind in her dust and laughing for the sake of laughing with the sun painting her a living, breathing feeling _being_.

Because she was Yuffie again, and she _knew_ that she was Yuffie of Wutai, AVALANCHE's Yuffie, Yuffie Kisaragi, the Greatest Ninja Ever, and Yuffie who loved Vincent, Yuffie whom Vincent loved, because he was _out there somewhere _and would find his way, because there was never any rush, and these things took time

(And she breathed, and nothing felt better.)


End file.
